Expecting

Forgive me if I am out of pocket. We're expecting a baby you see.

We've been knee deep in adoption paperwork since our intake interview on Friday. The interview went well. But, oh. my. gosh. I was SO wrong with thinking there were only 4 more forms to fill out.


Let me give you a run down of what I'm prepping over the next 2 weeks.


1. An emergency evacuation plan. I've had to render a layout of our home, all three floors, draw escape routes, and write up our fire action plan. This has forced us to realize that we need some of those ladder thingys (which has me wondering just how the heck do you crawl down a ladder with a toddler and a baby anyways?)

2. An autobiography. Literally, this is what is typed on the checklist for adoptive parents. We've each had to do one. Thankfully, they give you questions to answer. Even with questions, mine is about ten pages long. Brevity is NOT my strong suit.
How would you answer these questions in less than a paragraph? Describe your parents as individuals and parents. What attributes of their parenting do you wish to emulate? To avoid? Or maybe, What kind of child were you? How did you spend most of your time? (I answered dancing and singing in front of the mirrors in my bedroom, hairbrush in hand.) Describe what the teen years were like for you? What attracted you to your spouse? What are your spouses strengths? Their weaknesses? (Apparently one of my weaknesses is that I expect Sloan to be a mind reader...You mean he's not?) What are the main areas of disagreement in your marriage? (See passage about mind reading.) They also asked lots of questions about our infertility and our views on adoption. Awesome.

3. Medical Examinations. Going on Thursday. Even includes the standard blood workup and urine drug test. Henry needs a letter from his doctor stating that he is healthy and "free of communicable diseases".

4. Family History Data. Basically asking about any and all diseases my family has. Also includes things like hay fever, joint pains (who hasn't had these), and eye strain. Really?

5. Copies of our birth certificates and marriage license.

6. HIPAA forms. Because I obviously am very concerned about my privacy.

7. Sworn statements of disclosure. Basically asking us if we're criminals. We're not.

8. Fingerprint cards. Going to get inky tomorrow.

9. Child Protective Services forms. Which have to be notarized.

10. Statement of Discipline. Basically a form saying we won't beat our kid. Although if you really read it closely, all we're really saying is that we won't use corporal punishment until the child is legally ours. I guess once we're parents, the state doesn't care anymore.

11. Statement of Intent of Guardianship. Basically a legal form saying who gets the kids if we die. (My brother Bill is totally hosed if Sloan and I, along with Sonya and Biff, get into some sort of freak accident as he will suddenly have our kids plus the Pusey 8. Egads.)

12. Statement of Understanding that if our family status changes we'll let Bethany know.

13. Application Fee. (How nice of them to ask for the money last.)


This list does NOT include all the birthparent letter I've written, the "snapshot" of our bios I had to write, which will be included in our Birthparent Profile. (As in the thing they'll look at to see if they like us.)

As you see, I'm pretty busy. As we do all these things, it has gotten very real. I am a bit like a child on Christmas Eve. What great little baby does my Father have for me? In the past, I have learned that I don't dream big enough for the rich blessings of God. I ask for a trip to Bush Gardens, and he takes me to Europe instead. Knowing this, I'm in full swing prepping for baby mode. We hope to be completed with all the training and interviews and have gotten back our recommendations by the end of summer. And then we just wait until we're picked. So really, I've got to be ready for a baby by September. And that guest room isn't going to turn into a nursery by itself...

But in case you think we are neglecting the pickle for the sake of his little sister or brother, fear not.

Henry's view on adoption--

Our future's so bright, I've just gotta wear shades.

Henry's newest love is for the water hose. Unfortunately for Mommy, he figured out how to unwind it and turn it on all by himself. And no, that isn't his bathing suit and he isn't wearing a swim diaper. This game of car wash just sort of happened when I went to get the mail. He began dragging toys (and strollers) down to the driveway to hose them off. Two points for him, they were covered in pollen. Next trip to Wal-Mart, we're getting the boy a regular old sprinkler.

Narcissus

I suppose if I was that cute, I'd want to watch myself eat breakfast too. Yesterday, he was watching himself in the little mirror while playing the drums and tambourine. I think this might be how rock stars are formed.

Bites, Bubbles, and Babies (aka a Fun 4th)

Henry's newest favorite pastime is the self serve snack of an apple. He likes to climb up on the counter, get down an apple, and take it with him around the house. He throws it like a ball, nestles it in his bin of beans, and holds it between his teeth while he plays his drum. Much to his dismay, Mommy also put a tomato in the fruit bowl. (It is a fruit, you know.) He did not enjoy it.

Like most red blooded Americans, we enjoyed our three day weekend of freedom with some time spent at the pool. I've discovered that by putting Henry in his life jacket, he actually stays a little closer in. I think he doesn't like the false sensation of buoyancy. So we were actually able to enjoy the pool with him playing in the fountains and also showing Daddy all of his new swim lesson skills like kicking and blowing bubbles.

Here I wanted to post a beautiful picture my friend Davison took of our beautiful Frogmore Stew (or as Ann puts it "Dump Dinner"). According to Ann, I may never see the photo as D's D50 has been known to hold photos hostage. Anywho, Auntie Ann brought over her beautiful 6 wk old little girl, Emily, for us all to love and adore. Typical boy, Henry loved the technology and gadgets associated with the baby--her carseat, her passie, his old bouncy seat we brought down for her. We have yet to put the bouncy away as Henry like to turn the music on (complete with vibrations) and sit in it and say, "Baby." He was very sweet with Emily. He brought her his Emily train. He brought blankets to her when in the bouncy seat. And after dinner, he even took a napkin and wiped off her face.

Henry really wants to get at Emily. Notice the stiffness of his legs. He is about to arch his back and do the "let me down" wriggle. Parents of toddlers, you know this move.

Happy 4th of July!

(Or as I told Ann, hey, take a picture of us. We need photos for our adoption profile and most of the ones we have are just one of us with Henry.)

Adoption Update (Because Inquiring Minds want to know)

Some of you have asked for an update on the adoption process. Here goes...


We are about a third of the way through of the approval/home study process with Bethany Christian Services. What this basically means is that we are about four forms away from being done with paperwork until placement (I think that's right. But really, I'm making that number up.) And oh yeah, there are also four more interviews. (Not making that number up. Two with Sloan and I together. One of each of us individually. And then one at our home, where Henry will also be queried. That should be interesting.) And two COMPLETE days of training at the end of the month. Yowsa.


To quote my prof. Henry Simmons--"Are they slow or just stupid? Why all the interviews? Can't they see from Henry that you and Sloan are the best parents in the world?" (Thank you Jesus for sending people who love me so ridiculously into my world.) But I get all the paperwork. Bethany has to be able, in good faith, to tell the state and our birth mother they have the utmost confidence in our ability to parent and love this child. I mean, they are giving us a person.

But prior to even being allowed to apply for an adoption, we had to go have a 2 hour orientation meeting. Normally, this is hosted ever quarter or so at night and lots of couples attend. Their next meeting isn't until the third week of this month. Because I'm wanting to hurry up this wait time, I scheduled us our own private session. (I promise the case worker suggested it!) Here we learned more about Bethany, the adoption process, the types of adoption that are available, and more about birth mothers in general.

It's not all Juno, people. Birth mothers typically are older, because let's face it, it takes a level of maturity to care about someone other than yourself. And there are easier options for girls to consider. The process also opened my eyes to the real great sacrifice this woman will be making on our behalf. On behalf of our shared child. And so we have begun to ardently pray for her. Praising God that she has chosen life. Asking God that He would bring people into her life to love and encourage her. For her and the baby's health. For an easy pregnancy. For her bravery to be bolstered by the Holy Spirit. And for this entire process to be used to draw her closer to God. That she be able to see His redeeming hand through it all. I am grateful for the orientation as I now find myself praying for her even more than I am praying "Lord, bring us a baby."

The forms aren't all that bad to fill out. Less nerve wracking than the SATS, but not as much fun as the "What book of the Bible are you?" quiz on Facebook. (I'm Genesis. Whatever that means.)


The first form was simply basic information--name, address, why we want to adopt, and what type of adoption we are interested in. Each form has asked us to describe our ideal child. Well, I thought, I'd like for him or her to be kind, trustworthy, obedient, and funny. It would also help them fit into our family is he or she were well acquainted with sarcasm. My case worker told me that, no, that wasn't what they meant. So basically, I've typed "open domestic adoption of a Caucasian infant(s) of either gender" no less than eight times. And yes, I know this limits the number of birth mothers that will look at our profile. And I've had my nieces and nephews ask me why were aren't willing to adopt a child of another race. And the answer is quite simple. I'm pretty sure that if God intended us to adopt a child of another race He'd have told us by now.

The second form was the faith statement. Part of Bethany's mission is to place children in Christian homes, so they get this out of the way right off the bat. It asked questions like "Who is Jesus and what does your relationship with him mean to you?" and my personal favorite, "What is the Holy Spirit and what is his role in your life?" I--the seminary student, the writer, the great contemplater-- slaved over my statement for days. I delved back into my Systematic Theology notebooks. I wanted to correct the question in and of itself by writing a paragraph about how they should have asked "Who is the Holy Spirit". Sloan informed me that this may not be the time to get out the red pen. By the fourth draft, I was quasi-happy with it, still trying to figure out a better way to articulate my relationship with the Holy Spirit. Each answer was at least 4 paragraphs. Sloan spent maybe thirty minutes on his, each answer comprised of 4 concise sentences. When I read his, I was so pissed off because it was WAY better than mine. When it took all of 15 minutes for our case worker to reply to me submitting the statements to say they were approved, I realized that once again, maybe I'm focusing on the wrong things here.

Next was the "formal" application. It was more in depth and we had to give more information about our families, our reason for adopting, and oddly enough, directions to our house and a description of our neighborhood. Once again, I was struck by the Norman Rockwell-ness of our neighborhood (despite the cat neighbors)--with its sidewalks, playgrounds, homecoming parades, and ice cream trucks.

We also had to go into detail about our medical and criminal pasts. So yes, I had to fess up about getting a Minor in possession ticket my freshman year in college. Let's be more specific--an MIP my very first night of college. As in I was walking across the Granville towers parking lot with a solo cup of crystal light and everclear, on my way to a frat party, and I heard a male voice say, "Ladies." There were girls carrying cases of beer. Did they get tickets? No. Because I was the only girl to stop and turn around. Argh. One alcohol class later the charges were dropped, but still, the question wasn't have you ever been convicted (well, that question was asked), but the question was have you ever been charged with a felony or a misdemeanor? Well, thank you, ALE officer, for being my Mr. Meaner.

We also had to select whether or not we would be willing to accept a child with emotional, behavioral, mental, or medical problems. How they are going to be able to figure out an infant has emotional problems my case worker wasn't able to tell me. She informs me that there will be another form (of course there will) where they will go into more depth as to what types of things we are willing to accept. Awesome. I kept looking for the bubble that said "Just give me a friggin' baby" but alas, there was no such bubble.

On the formal application we also had to list our references. The people we are pointing them to say we would be good parents. We listed our pastor and Henry's fairy godmothers--Aunties Shannon, Robin, and Ann. So peeps, you have been served. And not only have you been served, there are now people out and about on this interweb thingy that are praying that as soon as you get your papers in the mail, you complete them PDQ. Let me be even more clear, when our case worker informs me that she has put your references in the mail, (or however she is planning on doing it--she is out of town this week, how dare she!) I intend to email and call you at least once a day until you can assure me that it is en route back to Bethany. Should you need postage, let me know.

At present, we are filling out a more detailed form about our finances. This form has been pretty boring--health insurance, life insurance, amount of mortgage, assets, amount spent on groceries. (Does this include amount spent at Casa Grande? We went last night and when we asked Henry if he wanted to go to Casa Grande he answered, while running to the door, "Yeah, yeah, cheese!") I'm also tallying up all of our assets as well, as in making a list of all the things in our home and how much they are worth. This is actually kind of fun. And dang, I have a lot of jewelry. (Have I mentioned lately how wonderful my husband is?)

So....that's where we are. My mother-in-law is coming down at the end of the month to watch Henry while we go to our all day adoption festival. (Not its official title.) I'm hoping to have had at least most of the interviews completed by then. Also, I know at some point, we're going to have to go get physicals (all three of us), and Sloan and I will have to go get fingerprinted for our FBI background check. I'll also be making a profile--a scrapbook intended to give prospective birth mothers a glimpse of our lives and what life her child may receive. This scrapbook is how we introduce ourselves to birth mothers. Much more civilized than simply hunting her down and screaming, "Pick me! Pick me!"

I'm also hoping that our home study visit/interview will fall close to the weekend my mother-in-law visits. That way I only have to clean my house once. And for those of you living in the Richmond metro area, rest assured, I will be calling you to come help me clean my house. Apparently, I have some friends, who actually enjoy this stuff. So, Colleen, Come on down! You're the next contestant on clean my house! (Don't forget to bring the ammonia and pledge. Cause I don't have that kind of thing around here. Not even sure I'd know what to do with them.)

Babies, Beans, and Beats

Henry enjoys a little "baby training" with cousin Matthew. It's a good thing Sloan was quick with the camera as this lasted all of three seconds.

Oh no! Anderson and Caleb realize that they've both purchased the same pair of jeans from Hollister. What to do, what to do! (And yes, like the water gun, these ripped up jeans were purchased by Gigi and Papa. Who else?)

Henry, Mommy, and Daddy discover that eating the corn on the cob is not as messy as they'd imagined. Of course, this photo was taken prior to him using the cob as a brush.

Henry's BFF, Nathan, has just recently become a big brother. Most people are cooking the family a meal. I hate cooking, so I'm giving a little childcare. And what is most easy is that Nathan narrates the entire playdate, so I'm actually able to get 4 loads of laundry washed, dried, and folded, my menu for next week planned, and lunch made! Thanks Nathan for babysitting my son!

Because one 2 year old playing the drums was not loud enough.

Seriously?

Henry just received a care package from his Gigi and Papa (my parents). These care packages are usually things I've left at their house that my mother believes us unable to operate with until our next trek to Greensboro. (As if we only have one sippy cup, bib, or pair of pajamas. Or for some reason are unable to go to Rite Aid and pick up more Children's Liquid Zyrtec.)

But sometimes the pickle receives gifts from Gigi and Papa. These care packages are my personal favorites because a)they usually arrive without a note. I simply open a box and find a toy, with absolutely no explanation or way to figure out who sent it save for the return address being a UPS store in Greensboro, NC, and b) often the toys are hysterically advanced or superfluous.

In short, they are items only a grandparent would purchase. As in finger paints for an 8 month old. (Gigi's response, Oh, he will just love it. My thoughts, are you planning on visiting to clean this up?) Or "glitter" crayons. (Mom, we have loads of crayons. Yes, dear, but do you have ones with glitter in them? No, mom. We do not.) Or perhaps you need a pair of pajamas with dogs all over them and the accompanying book that matches the pjs. Apparently the dog is named Fergus. (Actually, no complaints here. Free book. Free clothes. We like reading and not being naked here in the Phillips house.)

Today's care package?

The Super Soaker Max-D 2000. Apparently, this must be the appropriate toy for a 2 year old boy with glitter crayons. It can shoot water for up to 35 feet. Seriously, mom. You're arming my son? Great. Now I've got to go buy Sloan and I guns just to defend ourselves.

I You, Jesus

I funny thing happened to me last night at VBS. I was standing off to the side, microphone in hand, backpack donned (it's a Hiking themed VBS), watching the kids sing Shelter. At the beginning, I was singing and doing the motions to spur on the kids. But the next thing I knew, I was simply singing. No Trail Guide Phillips. No audience but Jesus. I was humbled by the fact that here I've been telling all these kids that because of God's love they were accepted and loved and cherished. Because of Jesus' sacrifice, they were complete, and whole, and set right, all the while disbelieving it. (I mean, I'm the one still vying for the attention of high school boys. Wasn't I supposed to be done with this, oh, I don't know, 15 years ago?) And so I sung loudly--You have been a shelter, Lord. To every generation. A sanctuary from the storm...

And God was not content to leave me with just that one song. Just that one little picture of how He continues to draw me to Him. He wanted me to fully come to grips with my desperate need to be liked and loved by all those around me and how that interfered with my ability to see His love for me. (Seriously, I was considering cussing in front of the teen helpers at VBS just to get my "cool" back after having to play the heavy and tell them to stop flirting with one another and get back to their classes.) So I'm on Facebook (which is really just my 21st century popularity barometer) and put on my Ipod Shuffle.

I will leave you with the song that hit me. The song that caused me to shut my computer down early. The song that took me upstairs to get Henry out of bed to pray with, so I got to hear him say, "Ohmm. I you Jesus." (That's amen, I love you Jesus in 2 year old.)

True Story, Ginny Owens

I am a gifted artist

I've learned to paint this canvas well

I work until I've finished

An ideal image of myself

But you know better

I am a storyteller

Quite brilliant if I do say so

I tell them tales they want to hear

And they believe it's me they know

But you know better

Chorus:

You see my imperfections

Still you say I'm a masterpiece

A marvelous reflection

The image of Yourself in me

You paint with strokes of grace

Undoing my disguise

You say beauty lies in the true story

The world might think me foolish

If they could see beneath my mask

They might find my dreams laughable

Or be embarrassed by my past

But you know better

Of where I've been

And where you've brought me to

Of who I am

All because of you